


The Red Dimachaerus

by tyelkormofuckyou



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood, F/M, Gladiators, M/M, Maedhros in Angband, Multi, Rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:48:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyelkormofuckyou/pseuds/tyelkormofuckyou
Summary: The Dimachaerus (Greek διμάχαιρος, "bearing two knives") used a sword in each hand.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor, Maedhros | Maitimo/Orc(s), Maedhros | Maitimo/Original Male Character(s), Maedhros | Maitimo/Sauron | Mairon, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> I like causing pain to fictional characters. I’m sorry.

Maedhros shivered. The piercingly cold air was almost too much to handle – it would’ve been too much, if he didn’t remember how he’d felt when it was _burning hot_. Sitting in a pool of his own blood – it was dripping from his back, _oh, he felt how slick it was, but almost forgot the pain_ – was better than what was right before, when the centurion whipped him for spitting in his feet. Flogging was a very popular punishment in Angband and Maedhros’ back was already covered in scars from it (most orcs, as disturbing as it was, seemed to find them extremely arousing). He would’ve been covered in scars from head to toe, if Thauron (oh, how he _loved_ spitting that name in his face, just to earn hours of torture and rape – he always thought that Fëanor would approve of this toughness) hadn’t been erasing them to keep him in relatively good shape. Maedhros could easily take flogging, even if at the end he hung limp, tied to the whipping post, his legs denying him support, his eyes rolling back, when all he could think of was Makalaurë’s soft voice, telling him that _you’re strong enough_ and _you can take it_ and _show them our Noldorin pride_.

He once heard Fëanor’s hoarse voice, forbidding him to cry – when Thauron raped him with Turukáno’s face, whispering in his ear: _my sweet little kinslayer, you slaughtered the Falmari, you killed my wife, now you’ll pay for it and you’ll love it, because you know you deserve it_.

He hated this kind of torture way more than he contemned flogging.

Thauron knew his secrets, since he could break into Maedhros’ mind when the Elda was unconscious. Maedhros denied him entrance with all his willpower when he could – and it hurt so much, as if his head was to explode – and he knew that Thauron could easily break through, but the sorcerer preferred to stop just a second before doing it – just to laugh and mock him with what he already knew.

And he knew everything.

And Maedhros was scared – because Thauron hadn’t said anything about Fingon yet, which was an ominous sign. The only mention of Fëanor, too, was just a quick observation at the beginning – _our Lord will love your face, even despite these eyes… You’ll remind him of your father._

Maedhros had noticed the venom and hatred in Thauron’s voice – with a tiny, tiny shadow of burning jealousy, too great to stay completely hidden, even by a powerful Maia. He made a mental note, hatefully happy for a moment, making sure to remember what he saw behind the veil of golden eyes.

And he did remember, for many years – waiting for the perfect moment to use that knowledge.

But now, he just lay in a puddle of blood. A normal day. Or was it a night?

_____

“Get up.”

The barking voice of some orc commander – this one Maedhros did not recognize – made him lift his heavy eyelids. His gaze flickered lazily at the creature.

The orc was exceptionally tall, had big fangs, visible even after closing his mouth. They grew from his upper jaw, unlike those of the one who’d led the gangrape some time ago (was it a week? Maedhros didn’t know). She’d been uglier than this one – Maedhros laughed in his mind, his brothers and cousins probably don’t even see any differences between orcs, and here he is, judging their beauty. This orc looked almost decent – for an orc, of course.

“Get up!”

Maedhros stood up. He towered over the orc, but felt a dull ache in his muscles and was barely able to make a few steps.

The guards immediately cuffed him and brutally pushed him to follow the commander. Maedhros knew better than to ask where he’s going – that was one of the first things he learned in Angband.

He always tried to remember the way, but the corridors looked all the same – filled with red and yellow light, noises coming from under the floor (Maedhros suspected it was a factory of some sort) and, sometimes, moans and screams of pain. The loudest shrieks were sometimes accompanied by blunt laughs.

Once Maedhros had felt something weird in the air, heard heavy footsteps and sensed the terror that all the orcs had felt – and a faint smell of smoke. He suspected it was one of the Valaraukar.

This time though, there was nothing unusual in the stinking air of Angband – and soon Maedhros, with his aching head, lost track of the way.

They walked for a long, long time, until they reached a big avenue, filled with noises coming from every tunnel leading to it. Orcs – some of them armed, some of them carrying tools or packages – were all marching in groups in every possible direction.

“Look, Gimrhik! An elf!”

“Not just any elf, you fucking cretin. It’s the High King of the Noldor!”

“Bow before the King!” A female orc in full armor bawled just loud enough for everyone in the avenue to hear it. “Bow before the great King, you scoundrels, you barbarians! His Majesty came to see us, poor boors, not worthy of kissing his feet!”

“I’ve heard from Friedgra that he favors his faithful servants with his body! Look at his royal ass, maybe you’ll be next!” Her friend, a gigantic muscled warrior, roared to her legion. The orcs began to laugh and howl at Maedhros – who paid them no attention, keeping his chin up as haughtily as he could (despite the lacinate pain in his neck).

“Wench-king!”

“Look at his back! How I’d love to scratch it!”

A very muscled, very stupid orc stepped before his troop and pulled his member out. His comrades burst out laughing.

“Suck it, my sweet King! They say your father was talented with his tongue too-“

It happened in a flash, so fast that nobody could react on time. Maedhros lunged at the orc, pulling the guards behind him; he kicked the orc in the face with such strength that the troop fell down. Then he threw himself at the orc and bit deep into his throat. Blood spouted from the grisly wound, jetting at the soldiers around; several red bubbles appeared when the orc tried to take his last breath.

The guards came back to their senses and brutally pulled the chain, violently raising Maedhros to his feet. Maedhros disgorged the ripped larynx; his chin, neck and torso dripping with fetid blood.

“Try speaking of my father again with your vile mouths, you fucking cocksuckers, and I’ll rip your fucking throats out!”

“Enough!” barked the tall commander. “You try this again, elf, and you won’t even remember your own name, let alone your father’s. And you! I’ll report you to Lord Mairon if anyone tries to touch him again!”

A faint murmur rolled along the corridor, but nobody dared to say a word aloud.

“Move!” The commander pushed Maedhros, not caring about the wounds on the elf’s back.

_____

“Hello, Maitimo.”

The name was an insult, when spoken in this sweet voice.

“Hello, Thauron.” Maedhros replied, deciding to go for a mockingly sweet venom this time.

Thauron laughed.

“You’re still trying to insult me using this name you picked for me. Having fun, pretending to be like your daddy again? I’ve heard you had an… accident… concerning him on the way here. It was quite impressive.”

“Don’t you dare speak of my father.”

“Or what?” Thauron laughed, finally turning back to face Maedhros. “You’ll rip my throat out?”

Maedhros stayed silent.

“I’ll enjoy it. I see that you finally start understanding my kinks.”

Maedhros rolled his eyes. “Why am I here?”

Thauron looked at him and winked.

“I want you to take a bath first.”

Maedhros followed the sorcerer, who led him through a couple of rooms and then down some stairs. Thauron pushed the door open and glanced invitingly at Maedhros.

“Tell me how you like it.”

The room was big, and filled with flickering lights. Some of the countless candles shone in a normal color, but some flames were blue or purple. Their reflections danced on the water surface of the pool in the middle.

Thauron’s fingers brushed Maedhros’ hips, reaching to undo the dirty rag he had for a loincloth.

“I’m a grown Elda, I can undress myself.” Maedhros’ voice was more hoarse than he intented it to be.

“I know.” He heard the smile in Thauron’s voice. “But I want to be the one to undress you.”

Maedhros stood still like a statue when the loincloth fell to the ground. Thauron led him delicately to the warm water. When he submerged into the vanilla-scented warmth, he noticed a completely naked elf who picked his old loincloth from the floor and disappeared back into the shadows.

“I know you don’t like women, but you must’ve noticed how beautiful she is.” Thauron laughed again. “Who would take a lonely bath when one can have their body washed by such soft hands and have all these curves to oneself… Maybe we’ll find you a sweet virgin lad, you’ll be his whole world.”

“I’m no rapist.” Maedhros growled when he felt Thauron’s fingers on his shoulders.

“It’d be better for him to serve you than to waste his beauty in the mines,” Thauron pointed out. “And he’d love you. He wouldn’t love the orcs who’d surely take him down there.”

“You know nothing of love.”

“Right.” Thauron shrugged and stood up, just to step in the pool – fully clothed. His dark, almost black robe must’ve been enchanted, because it was still dry – and so was his chestnut, too-crimson-to-be-natural hair. This time, he had also a different eye color – it disturbingly reminded Maedhros of Findekáno’s.

Thauron rolled his sleeves to his elbows and sat beside Maedhros, laying his head on the elf’s shoulder. A lock of his hair tickled Maedhros’ chest.

“Mm, I love this scent,” purred Thauron. “Do you like it?”

Silence.

“Oh, we’re still being stubborn and pathetic. I almost forgot.”

He lifted his head and did a sophisticated move with his right hand while saying a couple of rough-sounding syllables. _Was it in Valarin?_ Several shining bubbles started to rise up from the warm water. Thauron caught one of them in his palm – it was pink – and started to slowly massage Maedhros’ chest. It seemed that the bubbles are a magical substitute for soap, since the foam on Maedhros’ skin started to wash the blood and dirt off.

The silence was better than any words – but at the same time, it made Maedhros feel small and helpless, even though he was almost a head taller than Thauron. The blood disappeared from his chest, Thauron’s whispers made the wounds and scratches close up and disappear. The same thing happened to his legs – the worn, thin skin became smooth and peachy again, save for a few big scars that everyone in Angband enjoyed – and his butchered feet became narrow again. The bruises on his stomach melted into a skin tone as sweet as the one he’d had in Valinor.

“Turn around, my beauty.”

He felt the burn of his massacred back disappear (into a field of scars, he knew), so did the marks on his hips. This time, Thauron’s finger sliding into his anus didn’t hurt – it made the wounds close, since he was still bloody down there after how the gang of orcs had raped him not long ago. (With Thauron’s permission and blessing, no less.)

“Look, you’re smooth and clean again. I don’t mind your wounds, I rather enjoy them, but I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Maedhros glanced at Thauron. He felt something weird in his guts when he noticed the eye color again.

“I have some plans for you and they require you to be in the best shape. No more musty water, no more cold nights, no more starving and moldy mush as the alternative, no more flogging... well, maybe sometimes, since you’re so sweet then.”

He smiled broadly.

“You’ll train too. You can say goodbye to lying on the dirty floor all the time. And, as I said, we’ll find you a suitable youth to warm your bed.”

Maedhros snorted. “Why so generous?”

Thauron smiled sweetly. “Because I can.”

Maedhros rolled his eyes.

“Would you like a bathroom like this? A steam bath? I’d like you to be relaxed and healthy.”

“Yeah, with a bunch of naked slaves and colorful bubbles. And don’t forget about stained glass-work.”

“Mm, I love that sarcasm. But this time I meant seriously. I can get you stained glass and a dozen boys, if you’d like.”

“Cut the bullshit!” cried Maedhros; the water splattered when he moved. “Stop your games and let me be!”

Thauron looked up, as if wanting to sigh: _Eru, help me_ – or rather _Melkor, help me_. “I genuinely want to let you be, for some time of course. I suppose you don’t really desire a dozen slaves. Okay then. I’ll have your rooms prepared, I hope you’ll like them. I take no complains since you refused to help me.” He shrugged and clapped his hands twice.

The young elf whom Maedhros had seen before appeared again. She bowed deeply, eyes glued to the floor.

“Take Maitimo to his new rooms, sweetie. Oh, and put some clothes on.”

The girl bowed again. Maedhros got out of the pool; she put a soft robe over his shoulders, pointing her toes. It was white, and so thin that it was almost transparent. She put a similar one on, too.

She nodded her head, gesturing him to follow her. He smiled reassuringly, as she was clearly nervous.

They walked in complete silence until they reached an iron door. She touched it with her palm and the door opened. The chamber was quite big – and to Maedhros, who was used to resting in cold, wet dungeons or on hard earthen floors that smelled of orcish shit – it was suitable for an emperor.

She gestured towards the huge bed and bowed.

“Thank you.” Maedhros felt pity towards the lass, seeing that she was clearly afraid of him. “You may go.”

She left.


	2. II

Maedhros’ mind was far, far away, travelling over ephemeral landscapes, when he heard a firm knock on the door. His thoughts came back, his pupils narrowed – and he woke up. It took him a moment to fully realize where he was – but then he remembered.

He sit up and heard the knock again.

“Come in!”

To his surprise, it was no orc; it wasn’t even Thauron or any creature of Angband.

It was a perfectly normal elf.

He wasn’t very tall, but had the physique of an athlete. His tight leather pants left little of his long, powerful thighs and calves to the imagination and the muscles in his arm flexed visibly when he ran his hand through his blonde hair. He had an honest, broad smile too, that – with all other features – painfully reminded Maedhros of Tyelkormo. No slave in Angband looked like that; they were either thin and weak, or beautiful and terrified, with their big eyes glued to their feet.

The elf noticed Maedhros’ surprise and smiled apologetically.

“Call me Ango. You’ll train with me.”

Maedhros frowned. “Why are you here? Who are you? What are you doing here and how are you so…” He couldn’t find a suitable word – _muscled_ would sound stupid, _confident_ would be too arrogant and _strong_ – too alluring.

Ango laughed. “So many questions already. Okay: I live here, I was born here and I’ll be here for as long as our Lord wishes. I’m obviously an elf, not an illusion if that’s what you fear,” he laughed again, “my name is Tuorango. My job here is to train qualified warriors, assasins and, uh, other men and women of vigour. I also take part in genetic, chemical and magical experiments as the creator of subjects of research of best quality, and help our Lord to multiply and improve his task forces. I’m valued mostly for my physical and mental stability and strength, and that’s why I look the way I look.” He smiled broadly and winked. “It’s a great honor to be appreciated and trusted by our Lord enough to take part in creating the best soldiers the world has ever seen. I thank our Lord every day for giving me this noble task. But enough talking. Follow me, I’ll examine your muscles and the state of your body first, I also need to apply some salve for your skin before we start. Oh, and you’ll get breakfast.”

Maedhros got up and followed Tuorango. The blond led him to a room nearby, with a strange bed and armchair.

“Undress and stand in front of the mirror.” He turned a huge lamp on and Maedhros could perfectly see his reflection in the mirror – he was skinny enough to notice his own ribs, his once muscular arms were now even thinner than Findaráto’s, and his cheekbones were sharper than ever. He had at least two big scars on his face and many others on his chest and thighs. He didn’t dare to turn around and look over his shoulder.

“Oh, my! You’re so slim. Doesn’t matter, we’ll put some meat back on with no problem. I love your hair color, though. Okay!” Tuorango opened a drawer and took a big tube of some salve. “This will do you a lot of good, don’t ask what it’s made of.” He poured some of it into his palm and started to rub it onto Maedhros’ skin. “Damn, I love your back. So fucking hot! What did you get so flogged for?”

“Which time do you mean?” Maedhros made sure to make his voice as sour as he could manage. Tuorango laughed.

“Right! It looks like you’ve had at least ten solid canings. I was flogged only thrice when I was a kid. One was for staring at the centurion’s boobs – but can you imagine! They were enormous, floppy and pimpled, I couldn’t resist!” he laughed again. “One was for stealing food and one was for backchat when they threatened to put my best friend in the dungeon, in the _fun_ room. Neither of these was as tough as yours, though! My back is barely scratched, look.” Tuorango stopped applying the salve to raise his shirt. It was true; his back was marked a bit, but not more than average. However, he had a very nasty scar on his chest.

“You have a best friend?” Maedhros tried to change the topic.

“Nay, not anymore.” Tuorango’s voice was blithe on the surface, but Maedhros noticed a dark note. “You?”

“I had a beloved friend once.” Maedhros smiled bitterly and decided to stop trying to avoid topics that can be unpleasant to the elf, since the blonde clearly didn’t care about his comfort. “Where did you get the scar that you have on your chest?”

Tuorango looked around uneasily.

“That’s, um… I, uh, really… In a fight, I suppose. I used to fight a lot when I was younger.”

He went around Maedhros and started to massage his chest with two strong palms. The feeling was pretty pleasant, despite the peculiar smell of the salve.

“I can clearly feel that you used to be way more athletic. The muscle’s still pretty tight, even if you’re thin. How do you estimate your strength?”

“Can bite when I want to.”

“Good.” Tuorango squatted to take care of Maedhros’ legs. He looked up at the Noldo’s eyes and smirked.

“Nice cock.”

Maedhros snorted and rolled his eyes. Tyelkormo would’ve liked the guy.

Soon Tuorango was finished. He rubbed the last portion of the salve into Maedhros’ feet, stood up and slapped the redhead’s glossy buttock.

“Here you go. We’ll eat in private so your skin can absorb the salve.”

_____

After Maedhros was finished with his _bread and fried eggs_ with actual _butter_ , a servant brought him some clothes, slightly similar to Tuorango’s. He put them on and _brushed his hair_. Tuorango ran his hand through his hair impatiently.

“Now I’ll show you the gym, and the tracks for running, and a lot of useful machines that’ll help you on your path to might. Don’t get too scared, we’ll start with beginner exercises.”

They walked for a quite long time without a single encounter of orcs, until Tuorango stopped at a great gate.

“Don’t disturb the training athletes. They need to focus. They won’t bother you in any way since you’re with me; that’d anger our Lord.”

Tuorango pushed the heavy door and Maedhros saw a great hall, full of both simple and complex devices. He recognized some of them from Valinor, but many looked more murderous. They all clamped and rumbled in different rhythms, which was a bit overwhelming – but, praise the Valar, the room didn’t smell in any way. It seemed that the gym had good ventilation.

The athletes didn’t bother Maedhros at all. They all had bodies like Nerdanel’s statues, muscles flexing, the skin on their chests glistening with sweat. Some of them shot Maedhros dirty looks, but most of them – men and women alike – were too focused on their training to pay any attention to the newcomers.

A hunky, dark haired elf, who had been lifting weighs before their arrival, noticed Tuorango and put the bar on the floor. His chest was quite dark for an elf and Maedhros wondered if he had some Avarin blood in his veins – when he was an elfling, grandfather Finwë used to tell him tales of his dark-skinned friends that stayed at the Lake.

“Oi, Ango,” the brunet stopped in front of Tuorango and glanced at Maedhros. “Is that…”

“Yes, it is.” Tuorango frowned and said a few ugly, tough-sounding words. Maedhros understood simple phrases in the language of Angband (along with a lot of curses), but these words were unknown and sounded like a slightly different dialect. The brunet frowned and glanced at Maedhros again, but then whispered something in Ango’s ear that made them both laugh.

“Allright,” the dark man said in Quenya, with a thick accent. “Seems like you have a lot of plans. Go on.”

He came back to his bar and lifted it again. Maedhros noticed the veins on his forehead appear and wondered how heavy must it be. Tuorango followed his gaze and laughed.

“You wouldn’t lift it for an inch. But soon you’ll lift heavier ones. Let’s go.”

They marched through the whole hall and turned right into a small corridor. The next room was much smaller and, to Maedhros’ surprise, there was a big table in the center – surrounded by little elflings! The kids seemed completely normal – noisy, cheerful and ready to quarrel over every small thing. Each child held a glass full of a weird, thick liquid, partly in a shade of peachy orange, partly pink.

“I want the blue one!” One of the girls, lacking two teeth at the front, screamed at the man who was pouring her the mysterious drink.

“Today you get this one. Shut up or you’ll earn flogging.”

“You always say that!” The girl laughed, but took her glass and came back to her friends while taking the first sip.

“What’s this drink?” Maedhros asked suspiciously.

“A cocktail for strength,” replied Tuorango evasively, visibly not willing to explain more.

They arrived at the end of the corridor and Maedhros saw a gigantic cave, very deep; the done was far away too. In the middle, there was an unbelieveably narrow path with several deadly-looking devices on both sides or over it. There were also a couple of big holes in it. It was clear that if somebody fell off it, they’d be falling for a very long time.

“This is the Fucking Killer, as the cadets call it. Don’t look so alarmed, you won’t run here, not yet at least.” Tuorango’s teeth glittered dangerously. “The kids you’ve just seen had just overcome it. You’ll do it easily.”

Maedhros tried not to look anxious.

“Come here, through the secret stairs. Don’t tell the brats, they’ll cheat, then they’ll get caught and end up in the mines… if they get lucky.”

Maedhros silently followed Tuorango, who explained some of the big, weird constructs visible on different levels of the great cave.

“That’s the Pendulum, that’s the Double Pendulum, that’s the Hot Swing, oh, I almost fell off that one as a kid – look, it’s the Grinder, the Windmill…”

_____

The trip left Maedhros feeling overwhelmed and rather nervous. Tuorango’s proud tone rang in his ears; _subjects of research of best quality_ he called them, his very own innocent little children, tortured and killed by psychopaths such as Thauron. It was scary how this cheerful, attractive young man genuinely believed in Morgoth’s vision of the world, how natural did he consider the cruelty and injustice that ruled the whole Angband. While eating dinner, Maedhros tried to remember Tyelkormo’s jaunty laugh, his yearning for strength and the constant movement of his flesh. Tuorango’s silly jokes made him miss his little brother even more, leaving him frightened: what would happen if Tyelkormo became just as brainwashed, blood-loving and cruel as the elf of Angband.

_____

Days – or rather _periods of time when Maedhros wasn’t asleep_ – passed, and he felt better and better. Healthy food and regular routines of exercise were at first a shock for his body, the running left him aching and exhausted, but after some time he started getting more accustomed – and stronger. When Tuorango finally took him to the Fucking Killer, he was terrified with every step he took; but Ango’s strong, muscular back before him somehow eased his fright, making him feel safer and more confident. From that day, the Fucking Killer became more of a routine. He hesitated less and less before every jump, his old reflex and intuition coming back, this time improved with constant exercise. He started liking Ango’s loud laugh and bouncy gait, though the broad smile still painfully stabbed him with the resemblance to Tyelkormo’s. Tuorango never insulted or abused him in any way; he rather showed every move himself and tried to boost Maedhros’ confidence before the exercise. He woke him up, together they did pull-ups and push-ups and squats, they ate breakfast, laughed and trained. Still, the blond left him every day for dinner and after afternoon’s training, and avoided every question about where he’s going. Maedhros quickly gave up asking.

The Hot Swing was indeed tricky. Great balls of fire made it painfully clear that the exercise had to be done well or the careless cadet died, and Maedhros didn’t want to die. Imagining elven children dodging the fires and managing to jump as he was made to jump, over the great pit, was more frightening than the jumps themselves anyway. He and Ango met groups of little cadets sometimes, and Maedhros already started to recognize some of them, but as he noticed, sometimes one or two disappeared. He never saw them again.

Finally, he started to look at himself in the mirror too – he hated to do it before, hated seeing the ribs, the bruises and the scars. Now, his arms became thicker and toned, his chest broader. A skeleton started to change into an athlete. The orcs didn’t treat him like a toy anymore, their disgusting, lustful stares became ones of envy and hate. Mairon visited him only once, groped him a little, whispered his cruel nonsense and left him basically unharmed. Maedhros started feeling like his previous suffering was only a bad dream; he suspected, though, that it might be because of the breakfasts that Tuorango served him. Despite the lack of brightly colored liquids, he doubted the food being completely normal.

_____

His whole body was aching. Ango didn’t spare him during today’s sparring. Both wrestling and fencing left him exhausted, while Ango seemed to be completely resilient to fatigue, never tired, his sweaty body always strong and ready to stand up and fight. Maedhros, however, was not, and when he came back to his chamber after a quick shower, all he wanted was to throw himself onto the bed.

But there was someone between him and his bed.

Maedhros stared, bewildered, at a young, slender figure sitting on the floor by his bed. The youth, having noticed the Noldo, immediately kneeled.

“My lord.”

Maedhros blinked and looked at the elf before him. It was a man, no, a boy – sixty, sixty-five at most. He had big doe eyes with long eyelashes and fair skin; his hair was the color of chocolate with highlights of dark red dye, and he was clad in a light, burgundy robe.

“What are you doing here, young one?”

“L- lord Mairon desires you to feel relaxed and pleased, and he chose me to- well,” the elf was deeply blushing and looked anywhere but up at Maedhros, trying to say the embarrassing truth aloud. “Let me serve you, my lord.”

Maedhros took a couple unsure steps towards the kneeling youth. “Stand up.”

The boy obeyed, but his eyes were still glued to the floor.

“What’s your name?”

“Call me as you wish, my lord,” the boy shivered when Maedhros touched his shoulder.

“I wish to call you by your name, as any elf should be called. Tell me.”

“I don’t have one,” the boy whispered, the blush becoming deeper. “I’m so sorry, my lord-“

“My name is Nelyo, and there’s nothing to be sorry for. Look at me.”

The boy hesitantly looked up at Maedhros. His eyes were large and entrancingly brown, just like his hair.

“Can I call you Lissevarnë?”

The boy gasped. “My lord! Why-“ he stopped, afraid of what he wanted to say.

“What?”

“Why… why would you call me such a name?”

“You have beautiful eyes, and the Noldor name their children for their features.”

A tear appeared in one of the boy’s chocolate eyes, and he immediately dropped back to his knees. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, my lord… it’s just… nobody has ever told me such a thing…”

“Stand up, young one. Nobody has ever complimented you?”

“Well… they have, but mostly…” he blushed again, “mostly it was that I’m a good slut – that is, when I did well.”

Maedhros was appalled. “Sit down, young one, and listen to me.”

“On the… bed? Sit _with you_ , my lord?”

“Yes, on the bed, and please, call me Nelyo, and now – listen. A good slut – it isn’t a compliment, it’s a slur! Nobody should have ever called you that! I don’t know you well, but I know that you’re a beautiful young elf who deserves to be taken care of, not used as a toy. I won’t ever hurt you.”

The boy’s eyes watered. “But, my lord! That’s what’s I’m for! If lord Mairon ever finds out that I wasn’t good enough,…”

Maedhros gripped the boy’s face with both hands and forced him to look into his eyes. “You’re always enough!”

Now the boy was openly crying. “I’m so weak, I’m sorry, my lord, I should never… You should never see me in such pathetic state, let me…”

Maedhros stopped the boy from dropping to the floor again and caught his hands before they undid the burgundy robe. Seeing how kindness and gentleness caused only tears, fright and guilt, he tried a different tactic.

“Lord Mairon wants you to serve me, is that correct? He wants me to use you as I please?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then I desire to hold you and to sleep with you by my side. Nothing more.”

“Yes, my lord.” Maedhros could hear the horror in the youth’s whisper and the slender body trembled.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Nothing, my lord.”

“I command you to tell me.”

“It’s just… Lord Mairon warned me that if I don’t make you aroused enough, he’ll pick another one and I’ll… Please, let me serve you, I can make you feel good, I was taught, that’s my purpose…”

_I could’ve known. Rape a boy or he’ll die. Typical Thauron._

“Okay. Lie down on the bed.”

The boy obeyed, raising his legs so high that he was almost bent in half.

“Relax. Your legs, too.” Maedhros leaned down over the youth. He noticed the small freckles, the rosy cheeks, the long lashes; he felt warmth, touching the young elf’s chin. Finally he kissed him gently. The kiss was slow and loving, and Maedhros gently rolled his hips against Lissevarnë’s.

“You do arouse me, my sweet one, you surely feel it,” he whispered. “Fear not. I’m here.”

Lissevarnë wrapped his legs around Maedhros’ waist. “Please, my lord, I’m begging you, I feel so empty without you that it itches, please, relieve me…”

“Don’t talk like that, sweet one, be true with me.” Maedhros kissed the boy’s neck softly. “Tell me when you don’t feel comfortable and tell me what to do to make you feel good, I want you to be happy, that’s what I find arousing.”

“Yes, my lord,” breathed Lissevarnë. “Kiss me again.” And Maedhros did, drinking the soft moans that he produced with every rub of his hips against the young elf.

_____

Maedhros’ right hand slowly caressed Lissevarnë’s shoulder when they laid side by side. He was deeply in thought and the young one was a good companion in the silence; it didn’t feel awkward.

Lissevarnë glanced at Maedhros anxiously and carefully slid his head across the pillow to lay it near Maedhros’ head. Seeing that the other didn’t mind it, he wriggled a bit to find the best position, _accidentally_ pressing his side closer to Maedhros.

Maedhros smiled and turned his head towards Lissevarnë.

“You good?”

“Wonderful, my lord.”

“Did you like it?”

“I loved it, my lord.”

“Would you like to tell me more? I need to know what you like to be able to satisfy you.”

“But, my lord,” Lissevarnë was confused, “I’m the one who-“

“I want to know.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Lissevarnë’s obedience was greater than his amazement. “I enjoyed you kissing me and when you touched me, and coming from the caresses of your hand was wonderful too. But I do not know why you desire to worship me so. It should be me who makes you feel good.”

“You do. Caressing you makes me feel good.”

“As you say, my lord. You’re incredibly talented. You’re perfect, my lord.”

“Stop.”

“Yes, my lord. Could I… sleep now?”

“Sure.”

Lissevarnë started getting up. Maedhros caught him by the waist.

“Where are you going? You have a chamber?”

“I thought I’ll go to the _pleasure slaves_ ’ rooms.”

“Stay here.”

Lissevarnë nodded but tried to get up again.

“What are you doing?”

“I won’t disgrace your bed, my lord, by sleeping in it. I’ll sleep on the floor. Thank you for letting me stay.”

“Disgrace? Sleep with me, sweet boy. If you want to, of course.”

“I- my lord,” breathed Lissevarnë, and squeaked: “Thank you!”

He pressed close to Maedhros and closed his eyes.  
“I don’t deserve you, my lord.”

“You deserve more than me.”

______

“Look at this sweet picture.” Maedhros immediately opened his eyes. Thauron stood in the doorway with folded arms and a nasty sneer. “You missing someone? Need warmth? You hold him so close.”

“Nice to meet you too, Thauron.”

“Lord Mairon!” cried Lissevarnë, sitting up.

“Sorry for disturbing this adorable romantic moment. Was he good? I chose him myself.”

“Why won’t you ask yourself if you’re good. Bet Morgoth’s dick is too huge for your filthy mouth.”

Lissevarnë gasped. Maedhros shot Thauron a sour smile and took Lissevarnë in his arms, lying down again.

“Seems like the drinks are working. You really don’t think about the tortures you’ve just earned. Over-confident slut.”

“Said the king of sluts. Can I sleep now?”

“Do you even remember that time when I ripped your fingernails out?”

“Fuck off.”

“Do you remember when our Lord watched you being taken by an army one by one?”

“Fuck off, for Melkor’s sake.”

“So it’s Melkor’s sake, no longer Eru’s. I must congratulate the cooks. You really don’t remember.”

“I may not remember that you raped me, but I remember damn well that you’re a filthy liar and Moringotto’s whore. Get out.”

Thauron sat down on the bed behind Maedhros, who was lying on his side.

“I could take you now, you know. Or- wait, I have a better idea, I’ll take your little toy.”

Maedhros felt Lissevarnë tremble all the time, but at this point the boy was shaking.

“Leave him alone.”

“Oh, so he was good,” purred Thauron. “Good enough that you defend him. Did he suck you? Was his butt tight enough? You seem to be the giving type. But maybe you received?”

“Oh, just go away. I don’t need someone to suck my cock to defend them from being raped.” Maedhros pulled Lissevarnë closer and kissed his nape reassuringly, “it’ll be okay.”

“You know he’s a sex slave, right? You can’t rape a slave. Do you ask a chair for permission when you sit on it?”

“Go away.”

“Okay.” Thauron shrugged and got up. “You called me a slut and a whore. I’ll remember that.”

“Good for you, harlot- ahh!”

The pain was short, it lasted for just a moment, but it was agonizing.

“Seems like the toy didn’t make you relaxed enough. Get up, you wretch.”

Lissevarnë didn’t say a word. He tried to free himself from Maedhros’ arm, but the Noldo’s hold was strong.

“Leave him be and go away.”

“Please, my lord…” whispered Lissevarnë to Maedhros, “let me go… he’ll be so angry…”

“Be silent!” Maedhros sat up again. “Get out, Thauron, I mean it.”

“Or what? You wanna kick me out in the true Fëanorian style? Call me a jailcrow? Daddy must be proud.”

“Hah, funny that you keep mentioning my father when you’re angry. You don’t like the thought of him? Jealous, perhaps? It must be sad when Moringotto asks you to have black hair when you suck him off- ahhh!” Pain ripped through Maedhros’ body, but he felt nothing but nasty satisfaction. “My father’s dead and Moringotto still wants him more than you- ahh! He’d choose a mere Noldo over you, you wench…”

“Was it not for my Lord’s orders, I’d have you dismembered!”

“So Moringotto wants me to be all well? You can go fuck yourself then. He’ll be angry if you upset me and tempt me to start killing his servants, right? Get out, whore, and let me sleep. Your eyes are too green, change them to grey. He’ll like it.”

Thauron’s _green_ eyes screamed murder, but he managed to speak calmly.

“You’ll suffer for this. You don’t even know why we train you, right? It’ll be a nice surprise.”

“Ya, sure. Get thee gone.”

______

The Fucking Killer, the Grinder, Double Pendulum, the Windmill. Weights, duels, pull-ups, marathons. Swimming, wrestling, archery, throwing knives. Breakfast, dinner, supper, Lisso. Minutes, days, weeks, months, years…

_____

“Come on!” Tuorango laughed loudly. “Just one more time!”

“I’ve done ninety already,” groaned Maedhros, but grabbed the iron weight and lifted it. “What is wrong with you…”

“Remember your first day? You saw my pal lifting this one. Told you that you’ll be able to lift it! Come on, we’ll make it to hundred.”

“Whaaaaa… Okay, I’m done.”

“Great! A duel to end the day well?”

“Fuck you,” laughed Maedhros. “Okay.” He picked up his two swords – he already had his own. Ango chose a single longsword.

The duel was a bit different than the previous one. Maedhros noticed that Ango moved faster. The years of training boiled in Maedhros’ veins, he dodged, aimed, blocked. 

“Why are you so determined?” he breathed, dodging Ango’s sword. The blonde didn’t reply.

It lasted long. Maedhros’ muscles were aching, sweat on his forehead and nape, his auburn bun moist.

But finally, he did it. He blocked Ango’s sword with his own, knocked it out of the blonde’s hand with the other and put the tip on Ango’s collarbone.

“I win.”

“You’re ready,” breathed Tuorango.

“Ready for what?”

____

”Can I tell you something, my lord?”

“Stop calling me your lord and sure, tell me.”

“I… I think I’m in love with you.”

Maedhros didn’t turn his head towards Lisso, who was lying by his side. He stared at the canopy of his bed, deep in thought. “What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know… I’m just so happy when you come back to me, and when I can serve you… I’m the most lucky _snaga_ on Arda. You’re such a kind master, I never thought a master could be like this. The older boys and girls always told us stories of their masters, and… you’re a miracle for me, my lord. I love you.”

Maedhros turned, leaned over Lissevarnë and kissed his forehead.

“Sweet child… you know that I can’t love you back? I’ve never told you, but my heart is already taken... even if I barely remember.”

Lisso looked puzzled and then laughed.

“Love me back? You do have a sense of humor, my lord. Thank you for letting me love you, though. I want to serve you forever.”

Maedhros sighed. He had to get this boy out of this hell, someday.

“Can I kiss you, my lord?”

“Okay.”

_____

The ceiling was low and the dark room was full of men with several women, sitting on the floor or leaning against the walls, elves and orcs alike; their eyes dark, brows knitted. Maedhros looked uneasily around; he was the tallest of the elves, but despite his muscles he suspected that many of them were stronger than him. Some held weapons: swords, spears, daggers. He even noticed one golden-haired elf, incredibly fair, who held a trident in one hand and a net in another; his blue loincloth reminded Maedhros of the Falmari. Gazes followed both Maedhros and Tuorango when they passed by.

“Ango, tell me where we’re going,” Maedhros urged.

“It’s nothing,” the blonde shot him a smile. Maedhros knew from years of babysitting Tyelkormo how fake it was. “Nothing much. It’ll be easy. You trained well.”

“Trained for what? What will be easy?”

A muscular woman looked at Maedhros with sympathy. “First time?”

“What... Ango, tell me!”

The blonde didn’t say anything until they reached a big, roughly-made door. There, he stopped and faced the Noldo.

“Listen, it’s nothing scary. There’s a big room with… a task, and you must do it. You’ll reach another level then.”

“Like a test? What kind of test?”

“Nothing too bad. Who knows, maybe you’ll get a reward for it.”

“What reward…? Ango, don’t tell me it’s Thauron’s tortures or something.”

“No!” The blonde raised his hands defensively. “Our Lord won’t do anything to you. And stop calling him Thauron. Look, it’s nothing bad, I’ve done it countless times.”

Tuorango noticed Maedhros’ suspicious glare and changed his tactic. “You can help people this way. Just- just do well.”

“Okay.” Maedhros still had a weird hunch, but what could be worse than rape and torture? And he survived them. 

Something loud happened on the other side of the door. Maedhros didn’t know what it was, but he could faintly hear the noises.

“You’ll be okay.” Tuorango patted Maedhros’ arm. “Remember what I told you about tumbles with the swords still on your back. And… you’ll do good. I’m sure. You can do it.”

“What…”

Maedhros didn’t end the question. The door opened and light blinded him for a moment; a deafening noise hit his eardrums. Ango pushed him a bit forwards; he stepped forwards, his eyes slowly getting used to the light.

Endless bleachers, full of clattering faces, arms, legs, whistles and drums.

The smell of metaphysical smoke, the smell of the Valaraukar.

A monstrous loge seating, the banners black, the light of the Silmarils blinding him again.

“Behold the by-gone King of the Noldor, now the Red Dimachaerus!”


End file.
